The Ancestral Legacy Begins in the Wild West

Chapter 149 You Want to Kill Me, Robinson the Thief? Alchemist's Human Transformation...

He looked in the direction of the sound and saw a man, bound hand and foot, struggling desperately at the very back of the line. The man was wearing strange clothes of an unknown style.

Dressed in a tight-fitting outfit of leather and cloth, with a hunter's hat adorned with feathers, he looked like a—rogue? In any case, not the kind of attire commonly seen in France.

"You think you can kill me, Robinson the Thief!" he shouted as he struggled. "Not so easy! I'll show you how to escape tonight."

This man wasn't particularly large, but he was very agile. Despite being held by a group of people, he managed to break free slightly for a moment. Several guards rushed over and subdued him again.

Zhang Chang'an watched this scene silently, pondering helplessly: "What the hell is Robinson? — A French bootleg Robin Hood?"

Although we haven't fought, judging from this guy's physical attributes, he's probably a professional assassin? And quite skilled at it.

Nevertheless, his experience with the previous two characters told him that the ending for this Ranger Robinson was unlikely to be happy.

But, that's one thing, but what if? What if this guy really has the ability and manages to escape tonight?

If this guy really manages to escape, then he can learn from him and maybe even get out on his own.

Even if he fails, he can still use this opportunity to assess the security situation here and see just how formidable the guards are.

Zhang Chang'an withdrew his gaze, found a relatively dry corner in the cell, and sat down with his back against the wall: "After all, it's a single cell. Although the creation of the spacetime rift likely means a rather urgent crisis has occurred, based on previous experience, it should at least give me some time to prepare. There shouldn't be too much of a rush."

Just then, a burst of angry shouts came from outside: "Go in! You dare to be so arrogant? You'd better be able to escape tonight."

"You're being locked up in a cell by yourself, which means you'll be beheaded within a week! You can't escape tonight, let's see what you do in a few days."

Zhang Chang'an frowned and swallowed hard: "Well, it seems we can't be completely without a rush."

He pondered, his gaze sweeping over the guards in the corridor. He hadn't noticed before, but now, upon closer inspection, he realized that not only was the system strange, but the guards themselves were certainly not benevolent.

Besides their usual swords and clubs, they were clearly carrying some strange things as well.

Some people had several iron cans hanging from their waists, with thin tubes attached to them, the destination of which was unknown.

Some people carried a large backpack on their backs with several metal tubes extending from it, the ends of which were connected to a strangely shaped gun. Others had a bunch of bottles and jars on their waists, filled with strangely colored liquids, like some kind of chemical reagent.

Overall, it's somewhat similar to the whale oil equipment in futuristic London, but it looks older and rougher.

Furthermore, glass or copper tubes were installed over a larger area, yet no liquid could be seen flowing within them.

Even more so than complex mechanical structures are various intricate runes or engraved lines.

Zhang Chang'an couldn't understand most of it, but since it was standard equipment, compared to these runes with specific effects, there were also some texts that served as annotations.

It was written in French, so Zhang Chang'an could understand it.

Phosphorus fuel?

Night falls. The Bastille is colder and more gloomy at night than during the day.

The chill seeping from the cracks in the rocks seemed to penetrate his bones like a living thing. Zhang Chang'an, wrapped in the moldy, tattered blanket, huddled in a corner, still felt his hands and feet were icy cold.

However, his physical condition was sufficient to allow him to withstand such an environment without being affected in any way.

The faint light overhead had vanished, replaced by a suffocating darkness where one couldn't see their own hand in front of their face.

At the end of the corridor, there was a dim yellow light, an oil lamp in the hand of the night watchman, the light so faint that it couldn't even illuminate the nearest cell.

It was so quiet that Zhang Chang'an could even hear the sound of water dripping from the cell.

-

Of course, this state didn't last long. A muffled thud from afar woke Zhang Chang'an from his light sleep.

The sound was very faint, but Zhang Chang'an knew something bad would happen tonight, so he was subconsciously on edge and naturally caught the subtle noise. He quickly moved to the iron fence and looked out.

Just then, several muffled thuds echoed down the corridor, mixed with the soft clanging of metal, followed by the sound of a heavy object falling to the ground: "Bang bang—"

In the darkness, a figure darted out from the end of the corridor, agile and nimble—it was Robinson, the ranger who had made those threatening remarks during the day.

Zhang Chang'an nodded silently. This guy was indeed a bit arrogant, but he was also really capable when it came to trouble.

In the darkness, he moved with lightning speed, crouching low and hugging the wall, each step shrouded in shadow, a dagger he had taken from a guard clutched in his hand. His objective was clear: head straight for the stairs leading to the lower level.

During the day, I thought he was a professional assassin, but now it seems that this idea is probably correct.

He moved swiftly and silently. The prisoners in the cells he passed were not disturbed.

However, just as he reached the top of the stairs, a beam of light suddenly shone up from below. It was another guard, yawning as he approached the floor, facing the direction of the ranger.

The ranger paused for a moment, then suddenly accelerated and pounced.

"Thud!" The sound of a dagger piercing the back of the neck was short and muffled.

The guard didn't notice Robinson approaching from below and suddenly leaping up when he was right in front of him. Before he could even cry out, Robinson slit his throat and slid to the ground.

The ranger supported the corpse, gently laid it down, and then immediately reached the top of the stairs, peering down.

Zhang Chang'an was observing when he suddenly heard footsteps coming from above the stairs.

"Da-da-da"

It looked like someone was walking down at a leisurely pace.

The wandering knight froze.

He didn't rush down immediately because there was nowhere to hide the guard's body in the corridor. So, he could only try to seize the initiative before the guard came down.

The footsteps grew closer and closer to him in this state.

Finally, a figure appeared from the stairwell.

He was a tall, slender man in a dark robe, dressed in papal attire, with broad shoulders and a composed gait.

The dim yellow light from the lantern in his hand shone on his face, illuminating a face that was cold and almost harsh. He had a high, straight nose, thin lips, and deep-set eyes, with a pair of gray-blue eyes that reflected a cold glint in the light.

He didn't have those strange jars and backpacks on him, only a slender rapier hanging at his waist.

But for some reason, when his shadow completely blocked the stairwell, Zhang Chang'an inexplicably chose to hide his consciousness and his vision.

A sense of oppression. For that wandering swordsman, at this moment, this word no longer symbolized a feeling, but a real sensation acting upon him.

The figure appeared only at the top of the stairs, yet it made the rider's chest feel heavy. The ranger finally snapped out of his dagger's dagger, gripping it tightly and assuming an attack stance. He lunged at the man like a dark shadow, dagger aimed straight for his throat.

But the man simply raised his hand, gently pointing his palm toward Robinson, without even drawing his sword.

Then—"Bang!"

Zhang Chang'an didn't hear any gunpowder or explosive materials exploding, but he did hear a muffled sound like air being compressed and released, creating a shock wave.

"Whoosh!" The ranger's body suddenly froze in mid-air, as if he had been hit head-on by something, and then flew back at an even faster speed, slamming hard against the stone wall.

"Bang!"

The entire wall was shaking, waking up many prisoners in the surrounding cells. However, none of them chose to make any rash moves. Instead, they remained silent as usual after waking up, making the situation seem particularly eerie.

"Whoosh—" The ranger slid off the wall, collapsed to the ground, and coughed up blood: "Ugh!"

The impact was quite severe; his blood vessels ruptured, but it was clearly not fatal. He struggled to get up, but the middle-aged man in black robes had already walked up to him.

Looking down from above. Expressionless.

Robinson looked up, his mouth full of blood: "You—you are—what kind of monster—a wizard?"

The man in black robes simply looked down at him calmly, his grey-blue eyes devoid of any emotion. Then he raised his right hand, fingers spread, and aimed it at the ranger's head.

"This is the power of all forces, capable of crushing the hard and uprooting the resilient, forged into this—"

The next second—

"Pfft—" A sound of warm liquid bursting echoed through the corridor.

Robinson's body melted.